Only Death will take me from you
by Im-glad-to-be-with-you-Samwise
Summary: Boromir and Faramir grew up close and always had a very deep bond. This story tells the unwritten events going on before Osgiliath was taken back by the brothers and the events leading up to the victory and Boromir's leave. Focusing especially on Boromir and Faramir's relationship, but also on Denethor's with both of his sons. Denethor, Boromir and Faramir.
1. Chapter 1

Hello!  
This story focuses on Boromir and Faramir's relationship and also Denethor's with his sons.  
Do forgive my mistakes if you find any since I am not a native english speaker. :)

I hope you enjoy this first chapter!  
Comments are appreciated. :D

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Only Death will take Me from You

Chapter 1

It was a misty morning; the kind where you could actually _see _the cold.  
Or so Faramir thought as he looked out the tall, pale window. He had just gotten out of bed and as he had suspected, he felt sore all over, especially in his arms. It took much to make his muscles sore, since he ran about pulling the bowstring many times a day. Yet Boromir always seemed to succeed in making his muscles ache. It was his damn swordplay.  
With a small sigh the young man raised his left hand to his right shoulder and gently rubbed it. It felt like rock. Smiling to himself he walked across his mother's old room; a tall black banner hanging by the bed decorated with the white tree and the seven stars.  
'What are you smiling for?' He asked himself in his thoughts as he shook his head.  
'You're sore all over and your father still loves you like he loves the plague.' His thoughts seemed to wander and he didn't have the energy to stop them. Nevertheless he didn't stop smiling. He felt glad today. Boromir was home and could stay for some time. That was all he needed to smile.  
Stretching his arms high in the air he yawned and walked to the balcony, removing the white cloth which hung before it as an entrance. It really was cold. He felt it on his bare arms and feet yet he remained on the balcony looking out at the city. His city. This was the greatest point to stand if you wanted to have a perfect view of Minas Tirith. This spot had always been his and Boromir's favorite location. From here you could see the Tower of Echtelion to your upper right, rising like a white beacon in the middle. And below you the seven plateaus were strewn; white as early snow and strong as the mountain that bore them. You could see the gate; its black stone gate decorated richly and in the far distance you could just eye the once great capital of Osgiliath. By the sight of it Faramir's smile disappeared. He loved Osgiliath; the mere mentioning of its name made the flame in his chest burn stronger. He had never lived there, nor had his father. It was long ago, in the time of Tarondor that the city had been depopulated. He wished for it to return to its former glory and so did his father. But it had been merely ruins filled with orcs and other filth for more than 500 years now. Was it even possible? It was the no-man's-land between Gondor and Mordor. It was the only veil between them.  
Faramir did not realize how long he stood out there in the cold wearing only his undershirt and leggings. He had felt the cold sting his skin and nose but now it seemed he couldn't even feel it.  
Suddenly he felt strong arms grab his shoulders and tilt him over the edge of the balcony, making him gasp out loud and desperately grab the side of the white marble-edge. Loud and familiar laughter broke out behind him as the arms hugged him instead.  
"Boromir!" He turned around, his heart still beating rapidly. His older brother stood there laughing with his usual wide grin and now grabbed his brother's shoulders again, tightly as if to liven him up.  
"What are you dreaming about, little brother?! I could have killed you!" Boromir laughed, now letting go of his brother, still smiling widely. Faramir's smile wasn't as wide.  
"As usual, you're way too cheerful." He simply spoke as he started walking inside again. Boromir followed him, dressed in a red tunic under a black overshirt with a black belt, black leggings and his black muddy shoes.  
"And you're naked." The older one spoke, now throwing himself on the bed with a content smile as he watched his brother put on his green overshirt. He tightened the brown belt around his waist.  
"I'm not." He answered without looking and walked to the bed as well, where his brown boots had been placed. He slipped them on while Boromir leaned himself backward to lie on the bed.  
"I really showed you yesterday, little brother. Are you rusting on your old days?" Boromir spoke, and Faramir could actually _hear _the smile on his voice. He couldn't help the small smile that formed on his own lips either.  
"Why, brother, that must mean that you are indeed _very _old. How old will you be next summer? 41, is it?" The younger one spoke as he turned his head a bit to look at Boromir, who narrowed his eyes at the ranger. Suddenly he sprang up and made a mess of his brother's hair before standing.  
"Well, at least I'm not rusting, Carrot-top." He spoke; a big smile plastered on his face since he knew and loved the reaction he knew was coming.  
"Boromir! For the last time, do not call me that. Do I look like I'm 2?" Faramir almost exploded; he knew it was the reaction his brother wanted, and yet he couldn't let it slip and not give him the satisfaction. Carrot-top annoyed him more than anything. It reminded him of a little, useless, ugly toddler who couldn't do anything on his own.  
"Actually, now that I look closer, you sort of do!" Boromir laughed, continuing the joke by answering Faramir's rhetoric question and laughing again. The younger one rolled his eyes as Boromir started walking toward the door.  
"I will see you at breakfast! Come quick, don't let me be alone with father for too long!" He laughed as he walked out, closing the door behind him. He always had to joke. How could he be like that every single day?  
Faramir shook it off and walked past the great mirror in the room, which made him stop. Boromir didn't even have the right to call him carrot-top. They both had the same nuance of blonde. He knew that wasn't true, his hair was much more orange. He wrinkled his nose in the mirror and then walked toward the exit to wash himself.

"Boromir!" Denethor's voice was unmistakable to the captain-general. He turned around to face his father with a slightly forced smile.  
"Father!" He greeted in response and let the tall man hug him as he patted his back. They both smiled as they drew back from the hug and then walked to the dining hall together, where the servants were putting the food on the table.  
"My son, I have great news." Denethor's voice was filled with excitement and his smile grew ever bigger as Boromir looked at him with an uneasy feeling. He did not know why, but his father's 'great news' usually wasn't that great at all.  
As they got seated Boromir asked about the news and Denethor waited till the servants had left the room and the two of them were only waiting for Faramir.  
"It concerns Osgiliath." The Steward began, and Boromir's eyes changed from uneasy to interested as he looked sideways at his father.  
"What about Osgiliath, Father?" He spoke, his voice curious as he anticipated an answer. Denethor smiled before he would answer, and when he was about to, he stopped and looked around instead.  
"There was a report… Somewhere here…" He pushed out his chair to go and get the report, but Boromir got up faster.  
"Let me get it." He spoke, and pushed in his father's chair again, making the old man smile. His son fetched the report from the white counter and brought them back to his father. He did not sit down again but remained standing by his father's side to have a better look at the report.  
"Here…" Denethor mumbled as he rolled out the scroll.  
"This is the latest report, just arrived this morning. Three more have confirmed it before it. Boromir, orcs have been withdrawing out of Osgiliath. More and more of those filthy creatures leave the ruins and none have been seen for months on the west side of the bridge." The excitement was not hidden in the words spoken by Denethor as he let Boromir read the report through. Truly, the scout spoke of excessive withdrawal of orcs.  
"They are becoming careless. They think we have given up Osgiliath…" Boromir mumbled to himself as he read on, becoming more and more interested. It was true!  
"Exactly, my son!" Denethor exclaimed, glad that he could see it so soon. "Exactly! The dark forces know nothing of the endurance and strength of the stewards of Gondor! But we shall show them, son! _Now _is our chance to show them!" The steward whispered with an excited smile as Boromir put down the report and looked thoughtful.  
"Indeed it could be true… That we should take back Osgiliath after 500 years…" He spoke, his voice merely a whisper as if it was too dangerous to say it out loud. Denethor sat nodding slowly in agreement.  
"Father, I will have to re-read all of the reports from the last three months! Can I have them at my service?" The captain-general now spoke, a smile lingering on his face.  
"Of course you can! You know where they all are." His father spoke, the pride clear on his face as he watched his firstborn put the scroll back and return to the dining table just as Faramir entered the hall.  
"Good morning, Father." He spoke, nodding his head once and got seated beside Boromir, who smiled wide at him.  
"Good morning." Denethor spoke, with a smile that surprised the youngest son. He managed to smile back in time for the old man to see, and he felt his chest burn softly.  
"Little brother, little brother! Bright times may be on their way for Gondor!" Boromir said, unable to contain his joy as he patted Faramir's right shoulder once. The captain looked confused as his gaze turned from Boromir to his father.  
"Good news, Father?" He asked, looking a bit clumsy as he awaited a response.  
"You are to discuss it with your brother." The steward spoke, as he had started eating, which made Faramir turn to Boromir with raised brows. The older one simply smiled as he looked deep into the eyes of his younger brother. He nodded and Faramir would wait.

"Withdrawal?!" Faramir was uneasy about it. "Are they simply retreating without reason?!" He exclaimed again, having a bad feeling about it.  
"No, there _is _a reason! They have grown tired and weary! They are leaving their posts. They think we have given up. They think us _weak!_" Boromir said, smiling as he explained to his brother. That smile seemed permanent on his face. Faramir grew silent as he had to think it through. He read through the latest report, and could not deny. But was it that simple? The city they had fought so hard for, were they simply giving it up after 500 years? He frowned and read the same line again and again.  
"Little brother, it is true. Whatever their reason, they are falling back. I do believe they are forgetting. They are careless. Osgiliath is too close to Minas Tirith, they cannot stay there for long." Boromir said, sitting on the stone-bench in the courtyard with his little brother.  
"But Boromir, they have stayed there for 500 years! Why now?" Faramir spoke, holding his voice low.  
"They have not stayed there! They have not lived there! Osgiliath was abandoned, by men _and _orcs! It is a wasteland! Ruins! It serves only as a barrier between us and Mordor. We _can _take it back!" The captain-general was persistent, and Faramir wanted to believe, but his heart did not. Not yet. He would see it with his own eyes should he believe it.

"Captain Faramir, all is ready." Madril spoke, making Faramir nod once. Boromir stood by the gates, leaned up against the white stones that made the great wall. Faramir was once again clad in ranger clothing, in which he felt most comfortable. Especially with the bow and arrows on his back.  
"So are you ready to ride out?" Boromir asked him, arms crossed and with his fur-lined coat over his shoulders. Five days had passed since their conversation in the courtyard and they had agreed that Faramir went and analyzed the situation before they would make any decisions.  
The younger brother turned to his older with a smile.  
"We are not _riding_. There is a reason we are rangers. You do know the concept of stealth? No of course that would be stranger to a boaster like you." He teased, securing the sword in his sheath as Boromir laughed silently.  
"Have a safe journey, little brother. You take care." He spoke, looking serious for a moment, which cut deep into Faramir's eyes. He smiled at his big-brother as he put on the forest-green hood.  
"I will." He spoke and now turned, about to command his men if his brother had not interrupted him. It was a low and sarcastic voice.  
"A shame, really." Boromir spoke, making Faramir turn to look at him. He had that mischievous smile on his lips.  
"That hood covers up your carrot-top." The older one finished, smiling his widest grin as Faramir gritted his teeth and sighed.  
"Shut up." He spoke before he turned and ordered his men to line up. They were all dressed with the colours of the leaves and trees of the forest, on foot and armed with bows and arrows. The perfect silent dead.  
Boromir walked back up the stairs, all the way up all of the seven plateaus and into his chambers. He walked in further and into their mother's room. He looked out from the white balcony but he could not see them.


	2. Chapter 2

Hellow again! :D  
Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, this one goes a bit further.  
Forgive me for my warfare writing, I have absolutely no experience there. XD  
Please comment and review if you like. O3O

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Only Death will take Me from You

Chapter 2

Faramir looked up as he heard the faint shriek in the distance but there was nothing to see but the darkening sky above the rangers. They had taken shelter in the shallow woodlands near the river that would lead them to Osgiliath by a more hidden path rather than march straight to the old capital by the barren lands.  
"Captain Faramir?" Madril said, his gray eyes weary with fatigue; he was an old man after all, but loyal as could be. Faramir snapped out of his thoughts by his voice and turned to look at his second-in-command.  
He said nothing at first when he started walking forward and ended up ahead of all of his men. They were in a shallow slope hidden between weak and dying trees and from there Faramir could see the white ruins that once were Osgiliath. If he looked back he could see the glimmering tower, but he didn't.  
"We will move on. I want you all to move in a single line. The woodlands are too narrow." He spoke as he climbed the slope and followed the trees and the river. It looked more and more corrupted and filthy the closer they got to Osgiliath. 'Orcs' filth', Faramir thought to himself with a grimace as he kicked a dead branch away from his feet. He could hear Madril behind him commanding the men by his orders and soon he could hear them following him, not too loud.  
He hoped for victory and glory yet somehow, something had clouded his hopes of an easy victory; He could not get the shriek out of his head.

Boromir sat in the courtyard and watched the sunlight play on his dirty boots. The mud was dried but stuck to the leather persistently, as if the boots had gotten a second coating of brown. He sat looking at the narrow beams playing differently according to how he moved his feet until he heard a cough from behind, making him snap out of childish thoughts and straighten up where he sat, looking back. He saw his father come walking down the white stone-steps wearing his usual long black robe with the fur linings. He sat down next to his son with some trouble caused by old age.  
"What are you doing here sitting on the steps like some street-boy of unknown heritage?" Denethor asked but with wit, which made Boromir smile a faint smile as he was still halfway lost in thoughts. About what, he knew not.  
"You're sitting here too now, Father." He spoke as he turned to look at the man beside him. Denethor smiled back at his son and took his arm and pulled him slightly closer as when an old man needs support from strong youth. Boromir felt his father's hands shake ever so slightly; something he had noticed lately. It should be normal; he was an old man after all, but it wasn't. And even though Boromir wanted to tell himself it was, he could not convince even himself. The shaking wasn't the shaking of old age of the body. It was the shaking of old age of the heart. How long was it since that Boromir had realized Denethor was Denethor too, and not just 'Father'?  
The captain-general's eyes grew faintly sad as he sat there looking down at his father whose gray, muted eyes looked out onto the stone-yard. It was as if the cold white stone was reflected in his dead eyes. It looked as if he had lost something; a part of him so long ago, that he would never get back.  
Boromir could not remember if he had ever seen them alive.  
He felt a painful but faint sting in his heart and his large hand automatically searched down for his father's and found it soon after. It was cold and small. Somehow, it was small. And it had always seemed so large and strong to Boromir and Faramir when they were growing up. His shoulders had seemed so broad, so strong and now all Boromir saw was a fragile old man that he desperately wanted to protect.  
"We will take back Osgiliath for you, Father. We will rebuild the great tower in your name, Faramir and I." The blond spoke, smiling to his father and he could feel a squeeze on his hand.

They arrived at the west bank at midnight when the stars and the moon had appeared, and that particular moon cast an unbelievably eerie glow at the once white walls of Osgiliath. They could hear splashes from the river and wondered if there were any orcs at all at the west side of the city. Faramir silently signaled for his men to follow him around one of the arched entrances and made them all crawl up from a ruined, low staircase from whence they had a clear view of the westernmost portion of Osgiliath. He saw four orcs sitting by a ruined, defiled statue, eating something that looked rotten. He signaled for two archers to go around eastward and find a clear shot. He sent two other archers to the west for support and then scanned the area. There was nothing although his senses were screaming all of this was wrong.

The four orcs had gone down like flies once they had all gotten two arrows each in their chests. A couple of high-pitched screams were all they had managed before their mouths gurgled with black blood and their eyes widened in blind death.  
They waited the arranged five minutes, then one of the archers signaled with the hoot and Madril hooted back. They waited another minute and when nothing happened, Faramir signaled for them to come out. They all suddenly appeared, as if out of nowhere, an entire battalion of large men, having hid so successfully in rocky terrain. Some of the men laughed and joked, removing their hoods but Faramir walked around very alert and with a stern look on his face. He had an extremely uncomfortable feeling about this. If only he could find an explanation he wouldn't feel so paranoid.

That was when he saw it.  
It had been in almost every corner. If only he had been more careful. If only there hadn't been so much debris already, they might have noticed.  
The packs of black powder stacked neatly into almost every corner of the west bank lay beneath some of the stones and the other debris. They hadn't noticed.  
Faramir's blue eyes widened in shock and disbelief as soon as he spotted them and even before his brain had even been able to spell out the word 'explosives', he turned back and shouted, with all of his might:  
"Take cover!" And before he even managed to finish his scream, the sound of flaming arrows flew through the air and the explosions overpowered his scream. He felt the pressure throw him forward like a helpless ragdoll and his left shoulder snapped as he was thrown into the side of an arch with power he had never before experienced. The last thing he saw was one of his youngest men thrown up into the air with his legs and arms thrown in opposite directions and the blood spraying out of him like a tomato being squeezed too hard. He saw the scream but he never heard it; He couldn't hear anything. He heard nothing as he landed, hitting his head hard on the stone.

"Faramir!"  
The one word echoed throughout the white walls, giving it that cold recreation of the scream that stone did. It was midnight and Boromir had just been able to fall asleep when he had woken up again, screaming his brother's name. He could not remember the dream, just that it was horrible and something terrible had happened to his baby brother.  
Boromir lifted his hand to his forehead and felt it cold with sweat. He lifted the covers and dried his face before he got out of bed and walked through the long corridors with the white and black flags hanging all over; the white tree always decorating all of them.  
He walked out onto the long porch with all of the arched entrances and stood looking toward Osgiliath as he rubbed his eyes.

Fire?

Was that fire?  
No. No.  
He squeezed his blue eyes together and his cold hands grabbed the stone harder as he tried looking toward the old capital. That was fire, however weak it was. It was fire.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi again! :D  
Thank you for reading. Not much to say this time except I hope you like this chapter. OwO

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Only Death Will Take Me From You

Chapter 3

"Father!" Boromir burst into Denethor's chambers shamelessly, only wearing his leggings and a red shirt. Denethor awoke immediately to his son's desperate cry and shaking, he got out of bed while his first-born ran to him.  
"Father! Osgiliath is on fire! They have to have engaged in unexpected battle!" Boromir shouted, as if his father was deaf. Denethor stumbled a few steps, surprised to be awoken so suddenly. He felt Boromir's hands in the darkness and felt his son lead them to the door; the small torches on the wall burning with a soft red light. One guard in full armor looked sideways at them, curiously.  
"Boromir, what on earth are you going on about?" The steward mumbled as if to keep his voice at a minimum. His voice was not void of irritation, but Boromir paid no heed to his tone, his mind was only full of concern for Faramir.  
"Father, come!" He kept saying as he dragged his father through the stone-hall and toward the balconies from whence you could see Osgiliath as a tiny dot far away. The fire had spread and you could now see the smoke as well, rising like black filth from the once great city.  
Denethor's eyes focused straight ahead and Boromir looked from Osgiliath to his father, who soon turned and walked back into the hall, closely followed by Boromir.  
"Let me ride out to meet them! Let me ride out with reinforcements to Faramir!" The captain-general said with a stern voice as he reached Denethor, who looked slightly confused and in doubt.  
"You do not know if the situation is that bad. I will not send you and all your men to Osgiliath to leave Minas Tirith unguarded. Long have I felt a shadow approaching from the west. Not only Mordor is our enemy." The Steward spoke; his voice grim as he walked faster, contemplating what to do. Boromir's eyes narrowed in disbelief at his father's words and he kept following him.  
"I will not leave my brother out there alone, fighting those beasts!" He exclaimed with a voice louder and harsher than intended.  
"Father, Faramir might need help!" He said again and his voice was much softer this time, as if pleading. Denethor did not answer his son, nor did he look at him. And as Boromir was about to once again complain about his father's lack of attention, they both heard the shout of a young voice.  
"Lord Denethor! My Lord! There is a single shape coming from Osgiliath!" The voice shouted, riddled with eager. The young soldier soon appeared behind the two of them, his brown eyes wide beneath the too big helmet. Boromir turned around to face him with a shocked face as he grabbed the young one's plated shoulder.  
"Show me!" He commanded, and the soldier turned around and started running toward the arched opening in the balcony from whence one could clearly see the lone soldier almost completely camouflaged thanks to his clothes. He was still far away but Boromir could see that it was not Faramir. Had he run all the long way from Osgiliath by foot?  
Without hesitating, Boromir turned around and started running toward the large doors of the great hall, and pushed the doors open with both of his hands, roughly. He could hear his father shouting his name from behind as he started toward the white tree. He reached the stairs down to the sixth level and ran all the way down the different levels and did not notice he was barefoot until he reached the lowest level and the lampwright's street. Panting for breath he ran to the great gate and demanded the guards to open it while he ignored their worried questions.  
The lone soldier was not far now, and Boromir ran out to meet him. He was surprised to feel the warm wet feeling on his thin shirt as he caught the ranger who collapsed in Boromir's arms as soon as he had reached him.  
"He's losing blood! Get the Houses of Healing ready!" The captain-general shouted loudly before he was joined by two guards, who helped him carry the injured ranger inside of the gates.  
"Wait. Wait." Boromir spoke as soon as the gates had been closed, and the guards put the ranger down. Blood oozed down the corners of his mouth and it sprayed up on Boromir's face when he knelt down to look for his injury.  
"C-Captain… Ambush…" The young ranger gurgled before the black blood filled his mouth and he could neither speak nor breathe. Lifting him up so the blood could run out, Boromir now clenched his teeth and realized that the ranger most likely would not make it.  
A rider soon came down from the upper levels and the guard jumped off the horse. Boromir walked to the brown stallion and jumped up on it with ease and received the injured guard before him. He rode on immediately, feeling scared. Scared for Faramir.

His hearing returned soon after he woke up. His eyes were excruciatingly painful and he only noticed he had awoken because of the screams of agony surrounding him. He heard one scream just a long, continuing, terrible scream but he could not see why. The ash and dust and smoke were like a wall around them. Then he heard Madril, shouting his name. He sounded uninjured, and Faramir opened his mouth to shout back, but as soon as he tried he realized he couldn't even breathe. As soon as he had just moved his lips he tasted the sod, the dust and the ashes in his mouth, scorching his throat and the gag-reflex initiated, but he couldn't even cough properly. He was choking, and he would choke to death on a massacre-site. What a glorious death for Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower of Echtelion.  
He heard a choked scream not many meters from him and it made him widen his eyes. That was the sound of a man being killed, not a scream of fear. He closed his eyes and listened and truly, he could hear footsteps; heavy, armored feet moving across stone and debris. Orcs. He panicked for a second but then realized that if he could not see them they probably couldn't see him either. He decided to lay still and bite his lip, listening to the footsteps coming closer. He could hear hissing whispers and curses in between the steps and he knew they were more than five. This was bad. Madril had stopped shouting as well. Then it hit him; What if it had been Madril who had just been killed not ten meters from him?  
Get it together, Faramir. You need to be as strong as the captain you are supposed to be. Get it together. He bit his teeth together and counted to five, and then he placed his palms under his chest and slowly pushed himself up of the ground, painfully. He felt the rubble roll off of his shoulders and back but he could feel that something big held his legs down. He tried inhaling slowly and controlled, and at last it was as if the barricade of ash that had been stuck burst and air could flow freely through his mouth. Immediately, he coughed violently and felt his arm shake under his weight. They would all hear him and come to put a sword in his heart soon. He needed to get up fast. Coughing, he tried to turn around so he could get a better look at what was holding his legs down, but it seemed more difficult than he had thought.  
And suddenly he could feel their hands on his shoulders. He felt them heavy and strong, and he wanted to grab them, to fight, but noticed how weak his arms were. Then he heard their hiss and he became sick in his stomach, he could feel how close they were to his ear.  
And that was when he realized that the hiss was a perfectly normal sound simply hushing him.  
"Captain Faramir, it's me. Relax." Madril spoke, his voice low and soothing, which made Faramir's heart stop racing so fast.  
"Madril… You're alright." Faramir mumbled, breathing out a relieved sigh as he did.  
As soon as Madril had helped him get out from under the overturned pier, the two of them had ducked under a staircase and found a suiting hiding place which they could use until all of the dust and ash was gone and they had an idea of how many orcs they had to deal with.  
From beneath the stairs five more rangers appeared, and looked after Faramir, who still couldn't walk properly. He sat down and received emergency treatment while Madril peeked out of the hiding place, to see if he could find out anything.  
"I cannot make out much as it is now. There's too much ash and dirt." He spoke as he returned to the others and noticed Faramir's pained look on his face. That was not a look of pain over hurting injuries. It was a look of shame, of hate and regret, and Madril knew the exact source.  
"Do not burden yourself with guilt, sir." He started and knelt beside his young captain.  
"We would follow you to Mordor. None of us could have foreseen the terror of this ambush. None of us is to blame, sir."  
Faramir cast his gaze upon his second-in-command and he felt even guiltier, somehow. His men trusted him and he could not even be cautious enough as to avoid getting them killed in such a massacre. He knew he couldn't speak. If he did, his voice would fail him. Instead, he reached for his water-pouch and drank; feeling how it soothed his throat and the wounds on his lips.  
"Thank you, Madril. Your words are kind." He simply mumbled after some long minutes, but he did not look into the gray eyes. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon the dusty dirty stone-ground.

Denethor exited the Houses of Healing just as Boromir was getting insane of waiting. He sprang up as soon as he saw his father and ran to him, having gotten dressed.  
"He did not make it." The steward said coldly as he kept walking, Boromir following like a tail.  
"Then will you let me go to Faramir? Surely this man came to warn us, to request reinforcements?" The captain-general said; his voice stern and loud. Denethor stopped to turn around and his face was slightly reddened with anger.  
"One would think he would not fail me!" He shouted; a hissing, spitting tone as he surprised Boromir. "One would think he would accomplish the task I set him to, and not embarrass me in front of the entire kingdom!" He continued, turning his head away again as he started for the stairs up to the seventh level.  
Boromir was left astonished for some seconds, his brows furrowed with silent anger. But he followed his father again, catching up to him quickly.  
"Send me, Father. Send reinforcements and our siege will be successful! I promise!" He exclaimed, trying his best not to just scream at the old man, take his horse, his men and just ride out.  
"Please" He continued, pleading openly as they both rushed past the soldiers guarding the white tree.  
"Assemble your men, but leave 500 for the city."  
They were simple words spoken in a careless and cold manner, but they made Boromir stop and turn around almost smiling.  
"Harathor! Assemble the battalion!" He shouted as he jumped down the stairs and saw his lieutenant receiving the orders and run for the lower levels. As he passed the stables he shouted to the attendants to ready the soldiers' horses and his own.  
"We ride as soon as possible; notify Harathor when you are ready and armed to all rights!" He shouted loudly out to the passing soldiers and then ran back to his own chambers to get ready. He knew Harathor would assemble every last person in his battalion.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi there! O3O  
Thanks for reading!  
Yeah, this time it was all about Waaaarrrr! I hope I wrote it to your liking.  
Enjoy!

_

Only Death Will Take Me From You

Chapter 4

The soldiers all rode through the narrow streets of the great city once they were all fully plated and armed as per tradition, with Boromir in front not wearing a helmet and with his long black velvet cloak hanging from his shoulders, announcing his rank.  
Everyone were standing outside, on each side of the riders and waved, some happy looking and some sad and worried, especially mothers and wives. Boromir smiled to all of them, reassuring, and giving hope with his proud behavior and he especially tried cheering up the children. This mission should not be too hard; there couldn't be too many orcs out there by now. But he was still worried about Faramir. The fires of Osgiliath had been put out but they still had not returned.  
And now a red sun was rising, six hours having passed since midnight when the lone ranger had come back.

Denethor stood by the open gates, next to the biggest white flag held by an esquire. It reached all the way nearly up to the top of the gates and blew gently in the morning breeze. The faint black tree on it made Boromir smile. This is what he fought for. This is what he lived for. This is what he loved. If it was for his homeland, the white tree, Minas Tirith, these streets, his father and his brother… He would do anything. And he would be glad to die for one of those things. That would be a death worthy of honor and glory.  
He smiled as they reached the steward, and the captain-general reached his hand down to take his father's quickly, before he let his horse walk on, his men following him and slowly forming a line outside of the gates. Many of the inhabitants had now run up to the upper levels to look down from upstairs and watching their lovers, husbands, brothers, fathers and sons ride out to Osgiliath, to take back something which had been stolen from them 500 years ago.  
"Soldiers of Gondor! Sons of the white tree!" Boromir started, riding slightly ahead of his soldiers as his esquire followed him with the wide banner.  
"500 years ago, the filth of Mordor ambushed our people, killed our women, our children, and burned down the white tree of Isildur! The time has come to take back what is rightfully ours! The time has come for Mordor to pay! Do not let Sauron think that Men are weak. That men are failing. Let him see the nature of Men! Let him know that Men are not as easy to break as he thinks!" He rode to the end of the row as he shouted his speech out to his men, making a well-known fire burn in the young eyes as well as the old eyes.  
"Ride! Ride for Gondor! For the white tree!" He shouted at last, before he raised his sword high and charged, riding forth with hundreds of men following him.  
They were seen from the balconies and the upper levels as a cloud of silver moving together as a wave, getting closer and closer to Osgiliath.

"How many?!" Shouted Faramir very loudly in order to be heard over the flying arrows, the falling bricks and the collapsing walls.  
"Twenty-five archers on the upper ground and thirteen pikes in the courtyard!" Shouted Madril back, standing on a platform higher than the other rangers, hidden by a small piece of stone-wall which had miraculously remained standing. He flinched as an arrow flew right past the wall. Faramir was ducking beneath some rubble and had to almost lie down on his stomach in order to have reasonable coverage. He bit his lip and suddenly, he ran out into the open and behind another, larger ruin of a wall. Arrows flew past where he had just run and the two rangers which were already standing behind the piece of wall which he had run to looked at him with surprised eyes. He nodded to them, as if saying that it was okay and then he looked over to Madril who was now further away. He tried shouting his name, but Madril could not hear Faramir's words so far away. So the captain turned to the two rangers and grabbed one of them by the cloak.  
"Illarhan! You're a runner! Go tell Madril to navigate around the outer curtain with sixteen men. Place three in the turret; you can see it is not manned! Let the other thirteen shoot from the bastions at the end of the curtain. The rest of you follow me around the south-walk of the outer curtain! Make sure you are not seen!" He let go of the young ranger, who had an extremely concentrated look on his face, as if he had just been given an enourmous responsibility. And soon Faramir saw him sprint like a deer past the open space and then he could see him talking into Madril's ear. When he was done, Madril looked at Faramir as if to confirm, and the captain nodded once, clearly and watched the lieutenant do the same before he stealthily took off with the sixteen men at his service.  
Faramir signaled for the eighteen men at his service to follow him around the outer-curtain's southernmost part, and all the time they were hidden behind walls and ruins and debris. So unless they shot back or made very loud noises, the orcs would not know that they had moved.  
They walked slowly and carefully, but they needed not to worry too much about noise because the orcs were shouting and yelling curses and filthy laughter as if victory was already theirs.  
Soon the band of rangers arrived at the bastion connected to the curtain and Faramir sent ten of his men up that one before he signaled for the rest of them to follow him further around the southern wall. When he reached the second bastion, their presence still unknown to the orcs, he commanded the eight men to climb up and wait for his signal to shoot.  
After a while even the orcs grew silent, and Faramir followed the outer curtain until he could clearly see the great river and he saw how many orcs were actually stationed on the eastern bank. He swallowed a knot and crawled back to the second bastion which he climbed, met by his rangers. He looked out onto the city and could just see the tiny shape of the bastion which Madril had to be in right now. He waited for five minutes and then he hooted, waiting for a response. None came, which had to mean they were not yet ready. Sighing, the captain made one of his rangers hoot every five minutes until he got a response. After the fifteenth minute, a far-away hoot sounded in the silence and Faramir could see the orcs below walking around confused. The ranger hooted back and they were once again answered, which made Faramir raise his hand slowly. This signaled for his men to all arm their longbows with arrows. As he started to slowly let his hand fall again, they pulled the strings, having locked on to a target each, and when Faramir's hand fell all the way down, whips of fast, deadly arrows flew through the air and eight orcs fell down screaming and shocked. Not ten seconds later, the sound of more arrows cut through the air and Faramir himself loaded his bow as well, taking down orc after orc. This strategy would surely work on the few orcs they had seen, but there had to be more hiding. And Faramir knew there were lots waiting on the eastern side of the river.

Not long after the captain had had his mind on the eastern shore, suddenly loud whipping sounds cut through the air from a direction they did not expect arrows. And when Faramir turned, it was too late. Two of his men fell back screaming, one with an arrow to his throat and the other one hit in the eye. Another volley rained down on them before they could even react to the first one and they saw they were coming from another direction. They had copied our strategy and we hadn't even noticed.  
"Get as close to the wall as possible and kneel down!" Faramir commanded, making his men use the short wall of the bastion as shelter while the arrows flew over their heads and hit stone. But one of their comrades lay dead on the stone-floor with a pool of blood flowing from his throat and the other was still screaming, holding his hands desperately to his right eye. Soon the closest to him helped him get the arrow out, but it was not a pretty sight as they looked at the empty socket gushing red blood as he still screamed in agonizing pain. The other ranger ripped his hood and applied it to the hurt one's eye, stopping the bleeding and avoiding bacteria.  
For some time the rangers simply sat there in shelter, shooting back arrows at the orcs whenever they had the chance. They were persistent and not giving up, but it was clear to a blind man that they were outnumbered by far. The orcs were ten times their number.  
"Captain Faramir." A young voice suddenly spoke, making the captain turn his head to look at a young well-known face; Thareon. He sounded so calm, so casual even though they were in a deadly battle, on the losing side.  
"Captain Faramir, will your father send help? Are they sending reinforcements?" Thareon now asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, as if Faramir had all the answers, magically.  
"Your duty is to use your skills here, for Gondor. Your duty is not to wait for others to come and rescue you, ranger. I know you are strong. So be strong!" Faramir simply replied, with a strong voice and grabbed the young one's leather-clad shoulder at the end of his sentence. It seemed new life rose to the boy as he nodded gravely and walked back to his post.  
But Faramir wanted help to come. It was idiotic not to want it; they were outnumbered, plain and simple, outnumbered. He hoped Boromir would come.

The fully plated soldiers could see the river flowing through Osgiliath clearly now, as they got closer and closer with each passing minute. The ruins were very close now, and before they got inside of the arched entrances, Boromir sounded the horn of Gondor loudly, twice.

Faramir thought he had imagined it. His eyes widened in disbelief, but when he heard two soldiers exclaim 'The Horn of Gondor!', he knew he had not been daydreaming. His big brother had arrived to help him, as he always did. A small smile appeared on Faramir's lips as he dared look over the stone-walls, but he could not see anything clearly for the ruins and the walls. But he heard the faint galloping sound and the horn clearly.  
"The attention has been turned to Captain Boromir! Protect the riders and watch their backs as they fight!" Faramir suddenly shouted; his voice louder and stronger than before. All of the archers stood up and got clear views of the orcs down in the bailey and on the bridges and rooftops, running down to meet the riders with axes, pikes and swords. And some of the other archers turned their attention to the filthy orc archers in the other bastions and on the rooftops who were now shooting toward Boromir and his men.  
When most of the orc archers had been shot down or forced to join close combat, the rangers jumped or climbed down the towers to join the combat with swords instead.  
"Faramir!" Boromir shouted as he charged straight into three orcs coming at him with axes. He dodged one axe and cut off one head and then another before he continued on further into the city. He had to concentrate on leading his men and not Faramir right now, but he wanted to make sure he was okay before he could really engage in fighting.  
Yet, his little brother was nowhere to be seen. The captain-general turned toward his fighting men and raised his sword.  
"Force them into the city! Force them toward the river!" He shouted loudly and then pointed his sword forth, slaying orc after orc on his way forward. His men followed him like a wave of metal persistently moving forward, and crushing all things foul on their way. The soldiers noticed many bodies dressed in leather and green hoods and with the white tree on their chests while they advanced, but they could not stop to check dead bodies.  
"Do not stop on your way! Push, pull, slash your way through them! Drive them to the bridge!" Boromir shouted once more as he turned toward his men to command them, but as usual, he was reckless and left his back wide open. A large orc came screaming at him, and lifted its scimitar high up in the air, just about ready to slash it down upon Boromir's unprotected head. But he stopped midway and let out a faint gurgling scream before he fell to his knees and a sword was pulled out of his neck.  
"Do you really need me to look after you, big brother?" Faramir spoke with his most cheeky grin as he swiped his sword in the air, making black blood fly off.  
"Faramir!" Boromir exclaimed, a wide smile spreading on his lips as he saw his little brother. "I'm glad you're alright!" The older brother explained; relief clear in his voice and eyes, which made Faramir slightly embarrassed.  
"Let's have the happy reunion later, there are orcs to kill." The younger man said with a witty grin as he turned around and swung his sword gently, before running ahead of his big brother. Boromir followed him swiftly, and all of the men; both leather-clad and plated in armour fought among them, swords clinging and blood spraying.

When all of the orcs had been forced to retreat to the river, they were attempting to destroy the bridge from the eastern bank in order for the men of Gondor not to follow. But before they could, the soldiers rushed out upon the bridge which scared the orcs so much they dared not stay by the end of the bridge any longer, and especially not when they were volleyed by the rangers from the other side. Chaos broke out on the eastern side of Osgiliath, and the careless orcs had set up posts and camps and not once imagined that the soldiers of Gondor might actually make it to the eastern side.  
It wasn't difficult to win over the east-end since most of the orcs had swarmed to the western side when the soldiers had arrived, and so very few remained, and most of them fled backwards out of Osgiliath, along the Morgulduin.  
When the battle was over, and the men stood panting and hurting and staring around, it was a very surprised young man who broke out laughing first, and threw off his helmet, revealing a shallow cut to the bridge of his nose.  
"Victory!" He shouted, his voice more stern and proud than anyone had expected since he looked so young. Boromir smiled at him and turned to look at Faramir, before they both started laughing as well, and all the men shouted in a choir, "Victory! For Gondor!"


	5. Chapter 5

Hi lovelies! OwO Thanks for reading! 3  
I would like to apologize for the content of this chapter as it is merely a re-telling of the entire extended scene in The Two Towers.  
Although it is written with my own words and of course with added thoughts and behaviours, it practically is the same.  
But as I am a perfectionist when it comes to things like these, I wanted it to be exactly as it was in the movie. Peter Jackson is just brilliant like that!  
So sorry, but look forward to the next chapter!  
I hope you like this chapter anyway! O3O

_

Only Death Will Take Me From You

Chapter 5

Boromir was standing atop one of the highest collapsed towers, having a great view of Osgiliath and the surrounding arches and pillars. Before and below stood hundreds of men, clad in shining armour or green and black. All of them were shouting 'Boromir' over and over again, cheering him on as he stood there smiling, and soon, he planted the large white banner of the white tree in the ground beside him with one swift move. He drew his sword with his right hand while holding on to the banner with his left. He kept his sword lifted semi-high outstretched beside him as he started shouting his speech out for everyone to hear.  
"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom. A place of light and beauty and music. And so it shall be once more!" He shouted the last sentence louder, forcefully and made the crowd cheer wildly as a response. With a smile, he continued; his voice strong and forceful:  
"Let the armies of Mordor know this… Never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands!" The soldiers cheered loudly in agreement by this and raised their pikes and spears and swords high to show their joy.  
"The city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed! For Gondor!" Boromir shouted loudly, raising his sword high into the air as he did, and the soldiers beneath shouted with cheer: 'For Gondor!'  
"For Gondor!" Boromir repeated, and the crowd cheered with him again, repeating 'For Gondor!'  
And one last time Boromir raised his sword as high as he could, shouting at the top of his lungs; his voice strong and powerful:  
"For Gondor!"

As he walked down from the higher grounds, soldiers patted his back, his shoulders and some quickly hugged him on his way down, making him smile and rejoice with every cheerful soldier. As he reached the open courtyard, which had once been the Forum of Turumbar, he noticed the ranger trying to make his way through all of the soldiers, and with him followed Madril, as always.  
It was as if they read each others' minds once they saw one another. No words were needed; they simply chuckled a bit and then hugged, clumsily but lovingly. Faramir closed his eyes in the embrace, truly glad to be with his brother again. The Osgiliath experience had made him realize the fragility of life.  
As they pulled away from each other they automatically kept their hands on one another's arms, hereby remaining in a half embrace as they smiled.  
"Good speech!" Faramir said, before his face turned stern in a comical way. Then he added:  
"Nice and short."  
Boromir furrowed his brows and immediately responded:  
"Leaves more time for drinking!" Which made both of the brothers break out in uncontrolled laughter, looking so alike as they did.  
"Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!" The captain-general then shouted with a smile, making his younger brother laugh yet again. And a roar of cheerful agreement followed among all of the men.  
Boromir came back with two overly full mugs of ale one of which he gave to Faramir as he smiled.  
"Remember today, little brother." He said, and they let their silver mugs clink together once, making the foam flow out over the sides.  
"Today, life is good." Boromir simply finished with a happy smile before he drank of the ale and his little brother followed his example, smiling. He looked deep into Boromir's eyes which were the exact same color as his own. Those few words were simple but heartfelt. And Faramir knew, there was much more to 'life is good' than just 'life is good'. Today, life was good. Who knew how long it would last? But Boromir paid no heed to matters like that, when life was good, life was good, and he could always make Faramir realize that. That was what he loved so much about him. That was what Boromir was best at; Making Faramir smile again.  
He suddenly felt the urge to say something important to his older brother; something that would stick, something that would matter. Just something. But as he was about to, his senses told him to look to the side and there he saw him. Denethor, steward and lord of Gondor, of course had to come bursting to ruin their short time together.  
As Boromir noticed the estranged look on his brother's face, he snickered, and kept looking at him.  
"What?" He asked, his voice filled with cheer and tease also. But as Faramir looked back at his brother, his expression was not teasing or happy, it was strained and numbed.  
"He is here." He simply spoke with his slightly nasal voice as he gestured faintly with his head to his left. As Boromir turned to his right, he could see their father come walking toward them, surrounded by soldiers whom he congratulated and praised. And he could not even praise his own youngest.  
Boromir felt the anger burn in him and the irritation rose to the surface as he sighed, looking at Faramir.  
"One moment of peace, can he not give us that?" He whispered annoyed as he lowered his head once. He was still angry at him for badmouthing Faramir when he was in Osgiliath alone, holding it against impossible odds. But as always, with dear father, they had to act. Boromir especially, always had to be the middle man; the happy one. The good perfect son.  
He let his head fall to his chest as he heard his father approach and made ready for the act.  
"Where is Gondor's finest? Where is my first-born?" Denethor hummed playfully and proud, walking toward Boromir, who now raised his head.  
"Father!" He said, his voice much lighter than usual, and Faramir could hear it clear as day that it was absolutely fake. Yet Denethor could not. He simply laughed proudly and opened his arms for his son to hug him, which he did, strongly. The armour clinked and soon Boromir pulled back, still smiling at Denethor, but his father held a hand on his neck, reluctant to let go. Faramir could see the irritation on Boromir, but he doubted Denethor could. He stood in the background as he always did, and watched the two of them from the shadows.  
"They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handed!" Denethor spoke, his voice filled with pride. Boromir turned his head away in denial, playfully smiling as he did.  
"They exaggerate! The victory belongs to Faramir also!" The eldest son spoke, and by having to gesture to his little brother he managed to break free from the hug, as he nodded to Faramir.  
With an insecure smile, the youngest brother stepped forward, looking like a child who had gotten attention for the first time in his life. But before he even reached Denethor, the steward let him down.  
"But for Faramir, this city would still be standing." He said, cold and harsh as his eyes grew cold when looking at his son.  
"Were you not entrusted to protect it?" Denethor continued; his voice harsh and his gaze unfaltering as his eyes dug into Faramir's hurt ones. He had that insecure, let down look on his face and all over his body-language, and there was nothing Boromir hated more than seeing his little brother in that position.  
"I would have done, but our numbers were too few." Faramir tried to explain, but before he properly finished, Denethor interrupted him with a sarcastic and cold "Oh, too few." And one of his cold, cold smiles followed while Boromir stood between them, feeling more and more anger well up in him. Yet Denethor continued:  
"You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim." He spoke, always keeping his ice-cold gaze on Faramir's hurtful eyes. It was as if he awaited a response, an explanation from his son, but nothing came, as Faramir once again felt the hard knot in his throat.  
"Always you cast a poor reflection on me." Denethor spoke, his voice dark and grim now as he took some steps toward Faramir as if to intimidate him. The ranger swallowed a knot and tried lifting his head a little, although one could clearly see how awkwardly he was holding himself in this situation. He managed to shake his head, making his orange locks dance around him gently.  
"That is not my intent." He said with a stern voice, meaning it entirely. And that was when Boromir could no longer take it. He wanted to shout at Denethor, to bash him. Yet he could not, for he was his father. Instead, he walked one step closer to him and hissed:  
"You give him no credit and yet he tries to do your will." His voice was far from the boyish, light voice which had exclaimed 'father' at their first meeting here. And after having hissed it, he turned and walked, knowing that his father would follow him after such a remark and by that give Faramir some space.  
Indeed Denethor looked awfully displeased by those words and he turned to follow his oldest son, who walked under an arched entrance into a broken hallway. There, he stopped and turned, and quickly, before Denethor could speak, he spoke.  
"He loves you, Father!" He spat out, his voice pleading and sad, as if he really, really wanted Denethor to realize this simple fact. But Denethor would not.  
"Do not trouble me with Faramir. I know his uses and they are few!" He spat instead, making Boromir cringe and his brows furrow. How could he say that? With a halfway open mouth in disbelief and a scoff of disagreement, Boromir shook his head as he lowered it. How on earth could he say that about his own son?  
But before the captain-general could protest any further, his father spoke again, of another matter altogether.  
"We have more urgent things to speak of." He said suddenly, making Boromir raise his head with surprise. Seeing his son's confused face, Denethor continued.  
"Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting. He will not say why, but I have guessed its purpose." He said, his voice somehow eerie and grim, as if it was speaking of a terrible secret which should never have seen the light of day. Boromir felt alarmed yet he did not know why.  
"It is rumoured that the weapon of the enemy has been found." The steward now said, and Boromir knew right away where his concerns had come from. He had had nightmares, alarming, dark, eerie nightmares as if warning him about this.  
And he knew exactly which weapon it was.  
"The One Ring…" He spoke, his voice cautious as if merely mentioning it could be hazardous. He lowered his gaze, his eyes alarmed and slightly darkened as he realized in his heart what else that weapon was.  
"Isildur's bane…" He whispered grimly to himself.  
His father's look was dark and gloomy when he looked at him again, and as he spoke, he whispered; a dark whisper.  
"And now it has fallen into the hands of the elves." He pronounced the word 'elves' with slight disgust.  
"Everyone will try to claim it; Men, dwarves, wizards. We cannot let that happen." He hissed, and Boromir just automatically shook his head, as if agreeing with his father although he was not quite sure what to think yet. He was not even sure he understood how large this was.  
And before he could even get a second to think about it, his father spoke again.  
"This thing _must _come to Gondor!" He hissed, strictly and made Boromir widen his eyes as he looked up at his father again, numbly repeating the word 'Gondor'. But before he could say any further or protest in any way, Denethor grabbed his shoulders and moved closer.  
"It's dangerous, I know!" He spat, trying in some strange way to encourage his son.  
"Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser men. But _you!_ You are strong!" He whispered, adding so much impact and power that you possibly could to a whisper.  
Boromir looked confused as he looked from his father to the ground, to his feet; he could not focus. And he was scared of this Isildur's bane. Was it not folly, to bring the Ring to Gondor? Was it not suicide?  
Denethor continued, interrupting his thoughts:  
"And our need is great…" Now his voice sounded begging, as it always did when he wanted something from his first-born. "It is _our _blood that is being spilt. _Our _people who are dying. Sauron is biding his time, he is massing fresh armies. He _will _return. And when he does, we will be powerless to stop him. You _must _go!" Denethor whispered, his words like poison infecting an already exposed and vulnerable wound. Boromir would do anything for his father; he never could do anything that might hurt him. Denethor despaired him, knowingly. He used Boromir's weak points to try and control him, _make _him do this for him.  
"Bring me back this mighty gift!" Denethor now spoke, a greedy smile appearing on his lips as he did. And Boromir snapped out of it. He shook his head, slowly, then stronger, and pulled back.  
"No…" He whispered softly, then once more, stronger. He broke away from the steward and then had the strength to walk past him, out toward Faramir again. It had felt like being caught by a spell.  
"My place is here with my people! Not in Rivendell!" Boromir exclaimed, louder than he had intended and Faramir noticed the sharp edge of sadness to his words. Denethor's expression had turned from excitement to shock and then anger.  
"Would you deny your own father?!" He thundered as he followed Boromir out. He made his first-born turn to look at him by this and they both had that stern expression on their faces. And that was why Faramir broke in.  
"If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead." He spoke, calmly, and made Boromir give him a surprised, worried look. Denethor found it more amusing.  
"You?" He started, then scoffed. "Oh I see. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality." He spoke, sarcasm dripping from his cold voice. Boromir now wished he had just accepted this task right away. Faramir's eyes grew sadder every second.  
"I think not." Denethor said sharply, staring at his youngest. "I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me." The steward finished, keeping his cold eyes on his son's. Boromir hated himself inside. And as his father gave him a last, strict look he knew that he could not argue any more. Toward their father, they had been, were and would always be helpless.

Boromir sat on his horse clad in traveling garments and a fur-cloak when he was ready to leave. His sword was in his sheath and his shield on his back. He did not want to leave. He had a grim feeling, he was weary and sad and he did not want to leave Faramir already.  
His blue eyes turned their gaze upwards, to the white banner blowing gently in the cold breeze, the white tree dancing with it. He gazed at it for some time, feeling his heart being left right there, right with the white tree. He could not bring it with him.  
He looked down again, to see Faramir turning his gaze up just as he looked down, and soon, their eyes met. Faramir's told a story of sadness and regret, as if asking Boromir to stay, but Boromir's were calm and loving, always calming his little brother when he needed it. He forced a smile, but when it appeared on his lips, it wasn't even forced. It just wasn't a smile of happiness, or joy. It was one of those sad smiles.  
"Remember today, little brother." He spoke, repeating the cheerful words from the celebration. This time they were spoken gravely and sadly. He emitted the 'today, life is good' part, and Faramir understood perfectly. And as Boromir's smile grew into a sad grimace instead, Faramir smiled at him, reassuringly. Nodding, as if telling him it was okay. That he was going to be okay. That they would talk and have all the time in the world when he got back home.  
His little brother's smile made Boromir smile genuinely again, and he hesitated, lingering there, as if searching for some words that refused to come. But then he let his lips close together, and so started riding, slowly, keeping his eyes on his brother's until he could no longer.  
Faramir saw him ride out, away from him.  
Too far away.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi all! This is the sixth and final chapter of this story. Thank you all for reading and following it! I will write more lotr stories!  
Thank you!

Only Death Will Take Me From You

Chapter 6

Mist. Mist was all he could see, and feel, for that matter. No. He felt something else as well. Cold. Not normal cold from a late winter night, but cold that reached the innermost of your bones. Cold that made you freeze from the inside.  
He coughed, but no sound escaped him and he walked on. He felt his hands grow colder and more numb, and he felt his legs give in but walk on nonetheless. They felt like gigantic blocks of lead, treading through the thick, heavy mist. The mist felt concrete, solid.  
"Faramir." There, he heard his name being called again. But it felt like someone inside of his head was calling out to him. He felt sick and he wanted to stop walking but his feet would not stop. He winced once and still, no sound escaped him. He looked down and saw that he was walking in water. Still water. No – It rose. It was rising, fast. It became a current. It was cold and strong and ruthless. He was swept away, he was drowning.  
"Faramir!" He heard his name again, in a much clearer tone and he winced once, unable to speak, but this time he could hear his low wince. He shut open his eyes and realized he was lying on his cloak in a cavern.  
"Captain Faramir? Is something the matter?" Madril's voice was heard again and the young captain turned his head, the corner of his right eye slightly wet from exhaustion and sleep.  
"Merely a dream…" He spoke as he sighed heavily and closed his eyes with a deep frown. That dream had been so lifelike that he doubted, even in his waking mind, that he could move his legs or even get up.  
"The dawn is breaking." Madril spoke and awaited orders.  
"Tell the men to pack up, we're continuing on now." Faramir spoke without looking at Madril as he soon strained himself to get up. His back was sore and aching. He for once missed the beds at home. He hoped with a smirk that Boromir at least had slept worse than him.  
It had been nearly 3 months since his older brother had set out, and if all had went well he would have reached Rivendell in a month or less, which meant he must be far into the journey by now. Faramir imagined for a second Boromir having to put up with elves and manners and had to suppress a chuckle.

Boromir lay in the leaves and the dirt, barely breathing. His skin had turned white and the contrast between the light of his skin and his wet, dirtied hair was obvious. He rattled and felt the blood in his mouth, but all he could think of was regret.  
Regret over so many things. So many things, and they had all happened so fast. Frodo, Aragorn… Faramir.  
He heard Aragorn speaking to him and he felt something warm trickle down his cheek. It landed near the corner of his mouth and he tasted salt. He suddenly longed for his mother; longed to be held by warm, caring arms. This never-ending, piercing cold felt horrible. He was scared.  
"I would have followed you… My brother, my captain. My King." He spoke, with the last of his strength. He so wished Faramir was here.  
_I'm sorry, little brother. I'm sorry. I couldn't come home and we couldn't exchange stories one more time. This time there's no morrow. Not for me._

Madril walked in front and had been assigned to lead the other rangers while Faramir followed up in the back. He kept staring into thin air and stumbled. He wasn't paying attention; anyone could slay him easily now. Yet he cared not, for he felt a darkness and an omen in his heart. He could not understand why and he could not shake it off of him.  
After they reached the edge of the forest, their trained ears could hear the slight noises of the river and Faramir had relaxed a bit after having walked the eight kilometers. He heard Madril signaling to the others for a short stop and most of the men sat down to adjust their boots or to stretch. Faramir himself walked hurriedly to the front and soon reached Madril, who in turn had walked toward the back.  
"We follow the river when we reach it and when it gets dark, we rest. There are too many foul creatures in this deserted land to walk at night." He spoke, his voice slightly nasal when whispering. Madril nodded and they, too, rested just a second to drink some water.  
"We continue immediately. The Haradrim will not be late and so neither shall we." Faramir shouted to his rangers soon and most of the men got up right away, not needing much rest just yet. As for Faramir, he felt like he had walked all night and not slept at all. It had to be because of that alarming nightmare. He could not pinpoint why it had been so terrifying to him yet it haunted him still, as if there was more to it.

The thunder woke him up for the second time and he was yet again gasping for breath. Glad that he had not woken anyone, Faramir laid himself down again, on the hard surface. He ran his finger over the wood on his unstrung bow and looked up at the cold, gleaming blackness of the cave for some time before he drifted off again.

The mist was back. It was so misty that he could not see where he was. Yet somehow, it was clearer than the last time and less cold. But somehow it was more alarming, more frightening and he wanted to just turn around but something held him fast; forced him to go on.  
It felt as if all feeling, sound and hearing had been taken out of that world, and the only thing he could do, was follow this sickening, terrifying feeling which told him to go on.  
He could see trees behind him, and yet again he saw water below him. He was walking in the water but it didn't feel wet and it made no sound.  
The mist lifted more and more and his legs walked; heedless to his own will. He could see his locks move but he did not feel the wind. A piercing, screaming, dull sound was ringing through his head and he was wondering if he was losing his mind.  
Then suddenly he saw another moving thing in the water and soon he realized it was a white boat. Somewhat eager, Faramir walked toward it, but the alarming noise got louder inside of his head and it hurt him. He reached the boat and he felt like he should turn around yet he could not.  
He saw Boromir in the boat, lying on his back, sword clenched in hand on his chest and his pale face beautiful and peaceful.  
But the noises were screaming inside of Faramir's head. This was everything but peaceful, this was everything but beautiful. His face grimaced into a shocked expression; eyes widened but denying, and he saw the boat drift away as if it was floating beside him and not sailing on the water. He could not stop it, and he could not speak.  
Then, he could not breathe, and he watched himself disappear slowly, degrading into nothing.  
Vanishing from this world.

"Faramir"  
He heard the voice but he could not awaken.

"Faramir!"  
The voice was louder and somewhat cheeky; he could hear the person behind the voice smiling as he spoke his name.

"Madril…" Faramir managed to say as he raised himself up to sit and rubbed his one eye. He felt the cold all over him and the chill of the dream followed, as if it had not merely been a dream. He opened his eyes and saw Madril sleeping some meters from him and his blood froze.

"Carrot-top." The voice spoke. Faramir turned toward the voice and he saw Boromir standing just outside the cave, where the rain was falling fast. He was not wet, and he was fully dressed and clean.  
"Is that what I have to call you for you to hear me?" His older brother said, his voice riddled with cheekiness and suppressed laughter. His smile lingered as he finished talking and his arms were crossed, confidently.  
Faramir looked at him with his lips pressed together. He did not speak and his eyes were controlled and serious. What was going on?  
Soon he removed his cloak from his legs and crawled to stand, looking out toward his brother.  
The blond was merely standing there, smiling at him. He looked surreal. How could he be here?  
"Aren't you cold in the rain?" Escaped Faramir's lips. He did not know why. It was a stupid question of all the questions he could ask, and this was not Boromir. This was a twisted illusion or some devil playing tricks on him.  
Yet he smiled Boromir's smile. And it was warm as only his could be.  
"Don't worry. I'm not cold anymore. I won't ever be cold again, little brother." He spoke, looking deep into Faramir's eyes. Faramir felt like he was not awake, he felt like his entire body prickled with limbs which were still sleeping.  
"I'm home now." Boromir soon spoke and Faramir blinked.  
As he opened his eyes again he looked out into the pouring rain and nothing else.

Faramir had not been able to sleep anymore that night. It felt as if every rustle of leaves, every gush of wind, every drop of rain spoke his name or called him somehow. He was certain that he had spoken to Boromir. And it had been a two-sided conversation, not a conversation with himself. He did not dare think the thoughts the logical side of his mind willed him to think.  
Boromir was dead.  
The other, desperate part of his mind told him that Boromir had come home, safe in Gondor. He had accomplished the mission and told his brother that he was now home.  
That last thought was more childish than any thought he had ever had as a small child.  
He did not know what to believe, and he felt like he was going crazy.  
"Captain Faramir! There is something in the river." Madril soon spoke, interrupting Faramir's twisted thoughts. The captain walked to his second-in-command and looked toward where the man's finger pointed. He noticed the gleam at first. He knew it was gold, and it was lying on the river bank, washed up. At first he wanted to just pass it and check what it was, but as they got closer he saw that he recognized the shape, and a painful sting shot him in the heart. It felt like receiving an arrow straight to the heart and he could actually feel the sickness welling up in him as he knelt down and picked up one side of the horn of Gondor. The other one was lying at his feet and he felt his hands start to shake and how he had trouble gasping for air.  
"That is my Lord Boromir's horn!" One of the young rangers whispered too loudly and soon, whispers started like a chain among the men.  
Faramir got up after having picked the other part up and did not show a single emotion as he ordered his men to walk on, putting the two pieces of the horn in his sack.

_So you are dead? So you just died from me? You just left me here?_

The anger welled up inside of him and he felt his hatred mix up with his despair, his sadness, his sorrow.  
Yet he spoke not a word to anyone.

As they arrived at the next cavern in which they would spend the night, the sky turned dark. Faramir felt that it looked too dark, and he simply walked into the cavern without a word to anyone.  
His legs felt like rubber as he walked further, and he stopped, feeling a knot in his stomach, crawling up into his throat and he exclaimed a gasp, thinking the small portions he had eaten on the journey would come back up, but nothing came. He felt his eyes water and hated himself. He walked to a stone in the cavern, with one hand on the slippery wall, supporting himself.  
As he sat down a long forgotten memory suddenly shot through his mind.

"I will take back Osgiliath!" A child's voice.  
"Will you do it with me, Faramir?" The same eager voice.  
Then silence. There were no images yet, his mind was black. Only the voices filled the void.  
"Come on, Faramir!" The same child-voice again, even more eager, cheering.  
"Yes!" A younger voice, almost not pronouncing the 's' correctly.  
"Yeees I will!" The same voice as before, louder, cheerful, more determined.  
It was his voice, wasn't it?  
An image appeared as a beautiful woman with long golden locks walked toward him. Faramir could see her with his own eyes, as if he was again merely 3 years old.  
"You both are gonna be strong enough to protect me _and _Father, are you not?" She spoke. Her voice was soft, like silk, but Faramir could not remember it. He knew it was his mother, Finduilas, yet he could not remember that it had sounded like that.

He blinked and noticed he was crying and he did not care. He felt a pain in his chest so strong that he thought he would not survive it. It was stronger than when mother died, and it was stronger than all of the times when Father had scolded him for nothing, dismissed him, hated him, and wished him unborn.  
It was more painful of all of those things put together and he wanted to get up and scream, scream as loud as he could.  
But he did not, and he felt trapped and alone. Abandoned.  
He heard a voice sounding through his mind and he wept more.

. . .

_Remember today, little brother._


End file.
